Desk
by Kkarrie
Summary: Sometimes there's nothing more a man can do then to hide under his desk.


The day had started completely normal for Carlton Lassiter. He'd gotten his morning coffee, arrested a few felons and eaten his lunch. Now it was close to four in the afternoon and he'd just gotten to yell at Spencer for interfering with the latest case. All in all Carlton could call this a successful work day.

He was filling out the last of his arrest paperwork when the pen slipped from his fingers and dropped to the floor. Swearing, Lassiter crouched down to retrieve it and froze when he heard a familiar voice. There were only two people in Lassiter's life that made his blood run cold, the first was the clown from the carnival Lassiter had been forced to attend as a child, and the second was his mother. Frizzby the clown had been dead for over fifteen years (Lassiter had checked), which meant that this voice belonged to his mother.

"I came down here to see Booker," He heard his mother insisting to someone, probably McNab. Carlton actually scowled at the mention of his childhood nickname, but at least Spencer wasn't here to hear it.

"Booker," The psychic's familiar voice met Carlton's ears and the scowl deepened. Of all the days Spencer would bother to show up after the case was solved it had to be the day that his mother showed up.

Without realizing he had done so, Carlton was now sitting under his desk. It was slightly cramped but more appealing then talking to his mother. He hadn't seen her in years and he hadn't talked to her since he'd signed those papers for Victoria.

"Mrs. Lassiter, why don't you go have a seat in the conference room, with Shawn" Now it was O'Hara talking. "and I will see if I can find your son."

Lassiter tucked his knees farther up to his chin, trying to be unseen. O'Hara's legs appeared by his desk, her knees just below eye level. Holding his breath, Carlton waited for her to leave.

"Carlton, you coffee is here and so is your holster. That means you can't be far." O'Hara half whispered, still unsure where her partner was.

Lassiter felt for his gun and cursed. Spencer had spilled coffee on Lassiter while 'divining' an answer to the case that day. Lassiter had changed shirts, but hadn't had a chance to clean his glock yet, which meant it was still hanging on the back of his desk chair.

Hearing the familiar grumbles of her partner, O'Hara sat down in his chair and ducked her head to see Carlton Lassiter, sitting under his desk, holding a pen in his hand.

"What are you doing under there?" O'Hara asked him.

"There's no shame in a grown man dropping his pen under a desk," Lassiter reasoned with his partner.

"Then why are you still under the desk?" O'Hara hissed back at him, grabbing the pen from his grasp.

"Detective?" Buzz McNab's questioning voice called out. Juliet straightened and Lassiter held his breath. "Were you able to find Detective Lassiter?" The rookie asked. Lassiter could see a shadow near his desk, which meant McNab was close by.

"No, just a dropped pen," O'Hara put on her normal cheery smile. "Maybe he went down to evidence," She suggested. The shadow left and O'Hara's face was back even with Lassiter. "Why is your mother here? You know she doesn't like me."

"How the hell would I know that?" Lassiter hissed back at her.

"She says it is important."

"O'Hara, I haven't spoken to my mother in almost two years."

O'Hara sighed. She knew that much was true, the divorce had been a sticky subject between her partner and his mother. She'd been able to glean this from the few times Lassiter had complain about his mother or his ex-wife during stakeouts. "She won't leave until she sees you," She reminded him. "You can't hide under the desk forever."

Lassiter tried his hardest to stay under there, but the crick in his neck made doing so impossible. After ten more minutes he straightened and warily looked around. He could still hear his mother complaining from the conference room, probably about the fact Lassiter was late. Lassiter grabbed a clean glock out of his desk drawer, making sure to write a note that he still needed to clean the other one. He slipped on his shoulder holster, put on a determined face and stalked towards the conference room.

Spencer was sitting talking to his mother, Lassiter internally winced as he thought of all the stories his mother could have told Shawn. The psychic glanced up as Lassiter shut the door behind himself.

"Lassidoodle!" Shawn proclaimed, "Your wonderful mother was just telling me all about how you were a perfect child." Shawn beamed at Lassiter's mother.

Lassiter was actually pleased to see that his mother didn't seem to be as enthused about meeting Shawn as Shawn was about meeting her. "Damn it Spencer, leave," He growled shooing the younger man out the door, nearly slamming it closed behind the psychic.

"Booker," His mother's tone was disapproving. "language. I taught you better then to use such uneducated words."

Lassiter braced himself internally and then turned to face his mother. "Mother," He attempted to be nice. "What are you doing here?"

"A woman can't come see her son?"

"You live four hours away," Lassiter pointed out crossing his arms.

"Don't get snippy with me, Booker."

"That's another thing. I am forty-one years old, I do not need to be called Booker anymore, especially in front of my co-workers." Lassiter resigned himself to calling Spencer a co-worker.

"What has gotten into you?" Mrs. Lassiter asked her son. "You were never this way when you and Victoria-"

Lassiter actually heard himself groan out loud. Here it was, the one thing his mother could not let go of. Victoria Parker had been Mrs. Lassiter's ideal daughter-in-law, she had many character traits that reminded Lassiter of his mother. Probably one of the reasons they'd gotten along so well, for the first year or so.

"I just think that today, being a very special day means that you should-"

"No," Lassiter was firm. He knew what today was, it was a day when in past years he had spent money on flowers, jewelery, and chocolate. He'd driven himself all over town trying to convince his now ex-wife that getting back together was a good thing. It was a day, when eight years earlier he had slipped a ring on Victoria's left hand and they had exchanged vows. It was a day, that now he liked to forget about.

For the first time in his life Lassiter had talked back to his mother. He had no problem telling O'Hara she was wrong. He'd even said what he thought to the chief, but he had never spoken back to his mother, or interrupted her.

"What did you say to me, Booker?" The nick name was back and so was the tone of voice Lassiter was used to hearing after he brought notes home from the nuns saying that he had attempted to arrest someone in the play ground at school.

Lassiter straightened and tried to look unafraid. "I said no," His voice cracked and he cleared his throat. "I said no, Victoria and I parted ways long ago and whatever we had is over now." This felt good. He could almost understand why Spencer was so defiant to his father all the time.

Mrs. Lassiter's eyes clouded over. "Carlton David Lassiter,"

Lassiter cringed slightly at the use of his full name, but then straightened. If he backed away now he would never stop being afraid of his mother. "Mother, that is the final say in the matter. Now if you'll excuse me I have work to finish." He turned on his heel and headed out the door. He heard her call after him, but he didn't stop. He didn't stop until he reached his desk, then doing the only respectable thing a forty-one year old man running from his mother would do, he crawled back underneath it.

He let his head fall back against the side of the desk and just sat there, thinking about the conversation he'd just had. Never before had he stood up to his mother like that. Not even in his rebellious teen years. Which, looking back on, hadn't been that rebellious because he'd spent half his weekends at Old Sonora.

While Lassiter was thinking about this Spencer's messy hair appeared in front of the open space under the desk. "Whatcha doing Lassisaurus?" Spencer asked, crouching down to be eye level with the head detective.

"Go away, Spencer,"

"Not until you tell me why you're under the desk."

"I'm thinking,"

"About what? How to hide from your mom,"

Lassiter looked up to see a mischievous look in the psychic's eyes.

"It's alright Lassie, I won't tell. Scoot over." Spencer started to climb into the small cramped space.

"Damnit, Spencer, there's no room." Lassiter complained as Spencer's knee hit him in the sternum.

Both men froze as they heard McNab's voice. "I'm sure Detective Lassiter just went to the file room or the holding cell. His car is still outside. Let me get you some coffee."

"A cup of coffee would be nice, three creams, four sugars." Mrs. Lassiter's voice grew fainter as McNab led her away.

"Is that why you're under here?" Spencer asked incredulously. "Hiding from your mom,"

"You've met her, she's not a pleasant person." Lassiter snapped back, his voice still a whisper. They both froze again as a pair of shoes neared the desk. Lassiter narrowed his eyes as they came into view. They were tennis shoes.

"Why is there pineapple smoothie on my case reports," Henry Spencer's irate voice snapped. He was probably looking for his son.

Lassiter glanced up at Spencer. "Hiding from your dad," He mouthed.

Spencer gave him a dirty look, but Lassiter wasn't scared by it. "I won't tell if you don't," Spencer whispered to him.

Lassiter gave a panicked look at the thought of facing his mother. He reached out his hand to Spencer. "Deal," He whispered back, shaking hands. As much as Lassiter hated to admit it, this was the kind of thing that brought people closer together... the sharing a common goal, not the hiding under the desk part. 


End file.
